


maybe my heart's numb

by safona



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non AU, Past Car Accident, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, it's not as dramatic as it sounds i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 08:17:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15626586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safona/pseuds/safona
Summary: "Lou."He breathes in sharply and turns to his right, the source of the voice just having sat down. "Yeah?" he asks softly, trying to get his voice to come out as evenly as possible.Harry stares at him with an unreadable look on his face, then looks down. Louis' gaze follows.Oh.Harry's holding his right hand, a completely burnt out cigarette lying underneath it.





	maybe my heart's numb

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so, this is pretty much my first fic. It's not the best, could definitely be better, but I'm pretty proud of it nonetheless. I'm also not an english native speaker, so if anything doesn't make sense it's probs because of that lol. And brace yourselves, cause I'm absolute shit at punctuation. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you lot enjoy that sad piece of whatever that came out of my mind.
> 
> x

There’s a black clock that hangs above his family pictures, slim hands of it moving rhythmically as he stares at them, eyes steady, his lips dry and painfully chapped as he licks over them.

_ Tick. Tick. Tick. _

His hands are splayed on top of the table. At least he thinks so. He hasn't moved or felt them in God knows how long.

_ Tick. Tick. Tick. _

The noises outside are getting louder. Children's laugh can be heard through his open window, the sound horrid, like nails on a chalkboard. He can hear a small click on his right. Then, a barely audible voice.

_ Tick.Tick.Tick. _

The sounds around him get more frantic, more chaotic, overlapping.

_ TickTickTickTickTick- _

"Lou."

He breathes in sharply and turns to his right, the source of the voice just having sat down. "Yeah?" he asks softly, trying to get his voice to come out as evenly as possible.

Harry stares at him with an unreadable look on his face, then looks down. Louis' gaze follows.

Oh.

Harry's holding his right hand, a completely burnt out cigarette lying underneath it. He's caressing the burn mark on Louis' middle finger with his thumb slowly, Louis’ eyes following the movement for a long moment. He blinks. Hasn't even felt it.

"Baby," Louis flinches at the sad tone of Harry's voice, and his eyes slide to the calendar that hangs beside the clock, one date shaking under his gaze.

Two weeks.

It's been two weeks and he feels like he's been sitting in the same chair, at the same table, in the same apartment for a decade.

He barely registers Harry's sigh, and startles when he feels a heavy hand land on his thigh, ever so softly.

He tries to breathe in but it still feels like the oxygen dissipates before making contact with his lungs. It feels like it's been a decade since he properly took a breath, too.

He looks down, finds Harry's thumb caressing the skin there gently, in a comforting manner, and the gesture makes Louis want to throw up the last cup of tea he has drank. His own hand rests on top of his other thigh, the nail of his forefinger pressing into his bare skin, already having made a cut from moving too fervently back and forth, unknowingly.

Thinking about it, when has he last felt any sort of control over his limbs.

He pushes the chair out, the legs of it scraping against the wooden floor roughly, and stands up, Harry's hands slipping off of him. His palms curl around the edge of the table as he blinks for what feels like a second time in the last hour.

"Sorry," he gets out, then looks at the man beside him. "What, uh," he swallows. "How was writing today?" he manages at last.

Harry stares up at him quietly, and his gaze slides left and right a few times as he looks in both of Louis’ eyes. He then breathes in sharply. "Good, actually," he closes his eyes briefly letting out a sigh, and Louis watches as he stands up. "Ed came in for a bit,” he says, and halts a bit, before glancing at Louis. “He asked about you actually, told me I keep you all to myself these days,” he adds tentatively, and Louis forces himself not to scoff at his careful tone. 

He directs his eyes to the table with pursed lips. He's not made of damn porcelain, for fuck's sake. "You know I can't," he starts, going for irritated, but his voice ends up being a quiet choke, and Harry cuts him off quickly.

"I know, baby," he touches Louis' forearm softly. "You can take all the time you need, I'll be here as long as you want."

Louis presses his lips together and nods sharply. Harry extracts his hand then and starts walking towards the kitchen, Louis watching his broad back disappear around the corner. He scoffs quietly to himself.

As long as he wants, his arse.

Harry was asked to keep him company in here for as long as it takes for Louis to recover. Keeping company might be putting it nicely, though. He was just politely asked to move in with Louis for a bit and keep him from doing anything stupid.

Whatever  _ that _ means.

He also doesn't get the recovery part of the deal. How is having his friend, that he barely spoke to after the band's break-up, here going to help him? His mother insisted, though. Called up Harry herself and Louis assumes Harry said yes out of sheer politeness.

Well, kudos to him for being a polite little Brit, now he's stuck here with Louis for fuck knows how long.

He also started up with the whole  _ baby _ thing again. It’s a pet name he called Louis pretty frequently a while back, but he has pet names for everyone so Louis never made a big deal out of it, even if it does feel different now.

Zayn himself calls Louis  _ babes _ every time he calls him up, and everyone else seems to be comfortable calling him  _ love _ or  _ darling _ , too.

But they aren't so young anymore. It's been almost three years since they have seen each other for more than a couple of hours at a time, and Harry is no longer that ever-smiling, pudgy-cheeked kid he was before.

So forgive him for feeling a bit weird for being called one of his favourite pet names by a grown man.

His head snaps to the clock when he hears a loud clutter from the kitchen, the quiet ticks its hands not boring into his mind like a hand drill anymore, ever since Harry came in.

Maybe it's not that bad of an idea. Him being around.

And he  _ does _ make good food. Louis also hasn't seen his flat as clean as it is now in all the years of living in it. When Harry first arrived here, a week ago, he's put down his duffel bag, took a look around, and immediately started cleaning.

Louis was a bit offended at first, but soon realized it really just is who Harry is. He needs his shit to be clean. Louis realized then, too, that he doesn't really know this man anymore. Hasn't, for quite a bit of time.

"Lou," he hears Harry call from the kitchen. "I'm making pasta, that alright?" he asks as if he doesn't know Louis would literally eat anything he made.

"Yeah, sure," he calls back. He wraps his arms around his chest, and steps into the kitchen, seeing Harry put a pan filled with water on the stove. He leans on the doorframe and watches as Harry glances up at him briefly.

"So,” he starts and crosses his arms, eyes back on the stove. “What'd you do today?” he asks, most likely going for casual but failing, and Louis can't help but roll his eyes.

He has asked this question every day, without fail. Because, to Louis' therapist, a day with even a little bit of productivity is like making progress.

Productivity is a subjective thing, though, in Louis' mind.

When he told her a few days ago that he  _ was _ , in fact, getting more productive, she said _ oh?  _ with raised eyebrows before Louis announcing that, instead of having Harry fetch him his ice-cream, he went to the freezer to get it himself that day. He saw her visibly deflate at that, and where he assumed a sick, twisted feeling of accomplishment should be, there was nothing.

He didn't feel much at all.

Well. At least until Harry got here.

After a few hours of awkwardly skirting around each other that first day, Harry tripped over his own feet while reaching for his tea mug, knocking the thing over, and spilling its hot contents onto his hand, making the most unmanly sound Louis has ever heard while falling onto his knees. All in a matter of seconds.

Louis didn't know what the hell happened, the only thing he knew was that he himself made a pretty inhuman sound, slapping a hand over his mouth, where a muffled laugh was involuntarily coming from.

Harry looked up at him then with an incredulous look, after which he grinned sheepishly, looked down at his lap and chuckled at himself.

"Well,  _ mum _ ," Louis starts with a pointed look in Harry's direction, and Harry bites his lip, looking found out. "Didn't go to school today, seeing as I'm a twenty six year old grown man, but did organize my closet a bit. Hope you won't ground me for that school, though," he tilts his head with a raised eyebrow. Harry only smiles and shakes his head.

"Lou, you know I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't meant to actually help you," he says apologetically. Louis sighs and uncrosses his arms, lets them fall against his thighs and looks down on himself.

He’s actually managed to dress himself today, though. In track shorts and an old band tee, but it's still better than wearing only a pair of briefs and a week old t-shirt that Harry almost ripped off of him himself because it smelled so bad and had holes everywhere.

"I know," he sighs again. "I know. I know I have a problem, but all this," he makes a vague gesture with his hands, "just seems a little excessive. I mean I feel like I'm a ticking time bomb sometimes, what with how people go about me."

Harry sighs and something prickles under Louis' skin. "Stop sighing, you dick, and put the pasta in. The water's boiling," he says, going for teasing, but from the look on Harry's face, he knows he's not being that believable.

Thing is, he started being irritated a lot. He actually snaps at people when they do or say things that he wouldn't normally find annoying at all, and he doesn't know how to feel about that. He knows he should feel like a dick, at least. For the snapping and all. But he really doesn't. Doesn't feel a whole lot at all.

He realizes he's been out of it for a bit, has been staring at his own hands fumbling with his top, when he hears plates clutter on a marble countertop. He looks up, finds Harry pouring the steaming pasta onto them carefully and takes a second to watch him.

He really did change. His jaw is so much more pronounced, and his face as a whole looks more hardened around the edges. His eyebrows are almost always furrowed, always looking like he's concentrating hard on something.

Louis had once snorted when he realized that, and Harry had looked at him like he was straight up insane. He did, in fact, snort into his tea mug, splashing the tea everywhere. But, honestly, how could he not.

The dimples on his face never changed, though. That Louis is sure of. They were always one of Louis' personal favourites, as far as Harry's face goes. Though his jaw, now working on a piece of pasta that Harry is presumably testing, is a rather close second.

He blinks. Why is he thinking about Harry's jawline. 

He coughs into his hand a bit too loudly, and Harry looks up at him with a raised eyebrow before going back to the pasta.

He pushes himself off the doorframe, walks up to the counter, and hops onto it. “What we eating that with, then?”

"Think we still got that bechamel sauce from yesterday, might as well use that up," Harry says, walking up to the fridge, and takes out a jar with the white sauce in it.

That's another weird thing that Louis didn't know about him. He keeps shit in jars. Every leftover they have; if it fits in a goddamn jar, it goes in a goddamn jar. Harry says they keep things fresher than plastic containers, and Louis calls bullshit, but doesn't tell him that.

As far as Louis' shit aesthetic sense goes, he actually does like the look of jars more than those plastic containers he used to store things in, though. He did tell Harry that. He also felt himself blush a bit when Harry practically beamed at him afterwards.

He startles when he feels a hand on his thigh. He hasn't realized he's been swinging his legs up and down, slamming them on the cabinets under the countertop.

He looks up at Harry's face slowly, finds him smiling down softly and feels his thumb caressing the skin on his thigh. He returns the smile.

"You know," Harry starts then, putting the jar on the counter, and moves closer, almost in between Louis' spread thighs. "I think we should go out for a bit," he says while lifting his arm, and goes to push Louis' fringe out of his eyes.

Louis frowns, opening his mouth to object, but Harry beats him to it.

"Baby," he starts softly. "You've been holed up in this flat long enough. I genuinely don't know how are you not dead from the lack of oxygen here," he says and winces almost immediately, presumably when he realizes the bad choice of words.

It  _ is _ a bad choice of words. Louis’ stomach immediately makes an unpleasant somersault at it, but he doesn't want Harry to feel bad so he forces himself to roll his eyes.

"Shut up. I  _ do _ go out," he says, watches Harry nibble on his lower lip before responding.

"Going on the balcony to smoke does not count as going out, Lou," he says flatly, both his hands landing on each of Louis' thighs.

"Does too," Louis mutters, looking down.

Harry's hands got big. They always were, really, but now, splayed out on top of Louis' thighs like they belong there, he can see how much bigger they really got. His long, ring-laden fingers dig into the soft skin a bit, and looking at the little cross tattoo on Harry's left hand makes Louis' heart beat a bit faster for some reason.

He startles when Harry removes his hands suddenly, like they just got burned. He probably realized it's a bit too much touching for two people that haven't really spoken in three whole years, Louis reckons. And he would agree, hasn't he felt much too comfortable with his hands there.

It's the first time he’s felt comfortable in a while so it's a shame really when Harry removes himself from a reachable distance for Louis to go pour the sauce onto the pasta.

"Okay," he finds himself saying, and sees from his peripheral vision that Harry startles a bit at his voice, most likely lost in thought about the moment before, the overthinking idiot. "I'll let you take me out, since you insist so much."

"Oh, you'll  _ let _ me take you out?" he parrots, grinning, clearly amused.

"Yes, Harry.  _ And _ I'll let you know that you need to work on your choice of wording. That's no way of asking a lady out," Louis says, feeling himself smile.

"Oh, 'cause you're  _ such _ a lady," he looks at Louis with a grin, and Louis doesn't get it until Harry comes closer, voice low as he says, "Baby, in shorts like these no man will ever think you're a proper lady,” he reaches out, thumbs at the material, his fingers barely touching Louis’ thigh and, suddenly, Louis’ skin there catches aflame, his breath hitching a bit.

He jumps off the counter quickly and grabs his plate of pasta. Harry looks at him with furrowed brows, but when Louis forces a smile and says, "Proper gentleman wouldn't touch a lady like that, either, Styles," Harry visibly relaxes and goes to pick up his own plate.

They eat mostly in silence, Louis once making a jab at Harry, calling him a perfect future housewife, what with all the cooking and cleaning, at what Harry rolls his eyes but still grins like an idiot.

Now, Louis knows that Harry wants that. Not necessarily to be a perfect housewife, maybe, but he did tell Louis times and times again that he would want a proper family. A family that he will care and provide for. He confessed to Louis, at an age no older than nineteen, that he wants two kids, a house, couple dogs, and a perfect little marriage, right out of a dream.

He has wised up since then, of course. Knows the struggles that every couple goes through, Louis himself having caught him a handful of times in low points of his previous relationships, knows that with fame and with him being a constantly working musician, those dreams might take a while.

And Louis won't lie. He thought about it a couple times, too. With him being twenty six and having grown up with a big, loud and lovable family, it's hard not to. But on top of all those dreams that Harry and he share, being a closeted gay celebrity does not help his case.

His family of course knows and doesn't care. The boys in the band knew before he even did, what with all the times they have caught him drooling over their own guitarist. All they've done is mention to him in passing that he's not subtle with his little crush, and when he scrambled on what to say, they laughed and told him they don't give a shit, patting him gently on his shoulder, Harry's hand landing, of course, a painful slap on his bum.

Harry takes both their plates to the sink and washes up, while Louis pretends to be busy with folding unused napkins that Harry's laid out on the table, but from the way Harry looked at him amusedly, before going to the kitchen, he knows that Harry knows.

He's kind of dreading going out, if he's being honest. Harry doesn't know that, though, and Louis knows he's too oblivious to notice it.

They had a big fight about it once. Harry being oblivious.

Louis doesn't even know what it was that had gotten them screaming at each other but when Louis snapped at him saying, a bit too loudly, that Harry needs to sense the room sometimes, Harry looked at him for a minute and, also way too loudly, asked what the fuck does that even mean. Next thing they knew Louis was crying, sitting in Harry's lap while Harry was hugging him, rocking them from side to side.

So with that in mind, when Harry comes back to the room and Louis has ripped up a fair amount of napkins, he looks up at him. "I'm kind of scared, H," he says, and Harry is quiet for a moment, just looking at him with a stoic face. Then he smiles softly and comes up to him, taking his hands in his.

"No matter what, I'll protect you, baby," he says, way too sincerely for such a cliché wording, and Louis would snort if it was any other situation.

"That's so fucking cheesy," he gets out despite himself, and Harry chuckles lowly, still holding Louis by his hands.

Then he hauls him up suddenly, making Louis stumble into his hard chest.

“I'll bloody show you cheesy," he laughs, and Louis finds himself being hauled up again, this time by his waist, before landing over Harry's right shoulder with a surprised yelp.

"What the fuck!" he shouts and, to his surprise, starts to genuinely giggle while being carried to his bedroom.

He starts mumbling insults at Harry's back, fisting his stupid floral shirt in both hands, and manages to land a slap on Harry's little bum before he's being put down again.

"Oi," Harry says false-threateningly, putting his hands on his hips. "Don't touch me bum," he says, parroting Louis' voice and accent, simultaneously reminiscing all the times anyone has put a single hand on Louis' behind.

Louis makes an incredulous sound and crosses his arms over his chest, "You damn kindergartner. Mocking your elders like that."

"I wouldn't mock you if you weren't spouting bullshit every time you say it," he says with a raised eyebrow and Louis narrows his eyes.

Okay, maybe he likes when people touch his bum. That's still not anyone's business but his.

"Get out of my room, you knob, I've got to change," he says, turning around and going for his closet. "I can't believe I'm going to actually make some effort for our date, after how you've treated me."

He turns his head, one hand already on the closet door knob, and finds Harry's eyes snap up to his. He raises one eyebrow and Harry coughs, blushing.

"Yeah, uh. You do that," he says, then coughs once more before walking out of the room. He shuts the door behind himself, and leaves Louis staring dumbly at it.

"Alright, then," he mutters to himself and goes to find a presentable outfit.

With a quiet room, nothing stops his mind from wandering, though.

He wonders what will they do. He wonders where will they go. If Harry has something private planned or if they will have to go out into the public.

What if someone recognizes them, comes up to them and mentions  _ that. _

Mentions that something that made him give his laptop and his phone to his mum, because how could he not get tempted and google it?

Google it and see all the headlines, go to Twitter and find it trending, go to Instagram and see all the pictures.

He doesn't even know what the pictures would be of. But he's sure they would make him remember  _ that. _

He doesn't even know if his friends know that he's still alive. They might've seen it in the tabloids, they also might be wondering if his family is planning a funeral already.

He doesn't know, couldn't check his texts since that day.

What if they do think he's dead, though. What if he actually  _ should have _ been the one that died that day. What if it should have been him and not that poor driver, being put six feet under-

There's a loud knock on the door.

"Louuuuis. I know you get forever to get ready, but that's just excessive," he hears Harry call out from behind the door.

He blinks, finds himself on the floor, hands digging into his thighs, nails making red marks all over his skin. He's breathing heavily, and he sees blurry.

When he lifts a hand to his face, it comes off wet.

"Shut up," he calls back, unevenly. "Just because you don't know next thing about fashion doesn't mean everyone doesn't," he scrambles to his feet, quickly finds a random, clean t-shirt and a pair of black skinnies and changes into them.

Harry's quiet for a moment before calling out, softly, "Everything alright?" and Louis would be crying at how much of a gentle and caring human being Harry is, if he didn't already have tears coming down his face.

He sucks it up, though, and opens the door, coming face to face with a worried-looking Harry.

"Oh," Harry breathes and goes to touch his cheek, but Louis stops him with a raised hand.

"Yeah, that's something that happens now sometimes, I guess," he says and makes a beeline for his shoes that lay beside the door.

"Um," Harry starts and Louis knows exactly what'll come out of his mouth before he's even said it. "Maybe it's better if we stay in?" he asks, uncertainty written all over his tone. And. No. 

Louis has already squeezed into these tight-ass fucking trousers. He hasn't gone through all that effort for nothing. He tells Harry that much.

Harry rolls his eyes despite himself, and starts putting on his boots.

"Alright, but," he begins, straightening up, and Louis doesn't like that 'but'. "If it becomes too much we can just give Paul a call and he'll come pick us up," he finishes.

_ Pick us up. _ In a  _ car.  _ Louis shakes his head.

"No cars," he says quietly, looking down, hands wrapped around his stomach. He can hear Harry breathe in sharply.

"Shit, sorry, I-"

"Didn't mean to. I know, H," Louis looks up at him, at his furrowed brows, at his bottom lip, caught worryingly between his teeth, and smiles.

"You're trying, and that is something I will be forever grateful for," he says and, before he knows it, he's got Harry's arms around his waist and his face is being squished against his strong chest muscles.

"Fuck, Lou,” he breathes. “I wish there was something more that I could do," he says, voice little above a whisper, and Louis' heart aches. He winds his arms around Harry, gripping his shirt right above his shoulders.

"At least you can do something," he says, swallowing, and Harry makes a confused sound right beside his ear. He elaborates, "If I've been sitting in the front seat that day, the only thing you'd be able to do is watch while they put me down in the ground," he finishes dryly, and Harry grips him harder, a quiet sob coming out of him before he wacks Louis on the back of his head.

"You arsehole, don't fucking say shit like that," he says sharply and Louis just stares at his pecs with raised eyebrows. Why does he never button his shirts up properly?

"Ok, well, since I've put us under such a delightful mood," he starts after a moment and Harry snorts a bit, though it kind of sounded like a sob, too. "We'll go out and have a delightful time then, yeah?" he looks up from Harry's pecs to his face and Harry lifts his face up from Louis' neck and nods.

 

 

And they really do. They really have a delightful time. They go to a stupid park, get stupid ice-cream, feed a bunch of stupid ducks some stupid bread and Louis, for the first time in two weeks, feels like he can actually breathe again.

They don't encounter anyone who recognizes them, by some miracle, and by the time they make their way back it starts to get darker out.

"For the last time, that duck was fucking right for wanting to bite you, you literally molested her," Louis says, still shaking with laughter while they walk out the park gates.

"Was fucking not, just wanted to feel her feathers, and this shit thought I was out to get her," Harry mutters, putting on his coat.

"Just wanted to feel her feathers," Louis parrots, making his voice lower. "I swear to God, you make the most innocent things sound sexual."

Harry scoffs and that's that.

They fall into comfortable silence, their hands brushing a couple times as they're walking, and Louis really feels like he just got a feel of what a real date with Harry would be like.

It really wasn't that bad at all.

They would do a bit more than have their hands brushing against each other awkwardly though, Louis imagines.

They're rounding the corner on a pretty narrow street when, out of nowhere, a bike comes up from behind them. The person on it only just rings the bell and both of them jump to the opposite sides, startled.

Louis ends up slipping off the sidewalk, and Harry reaches a hand out to steady him when there's suddenly a car horn blasting in Louis' ears, and he collapses onto his knees.

The horrific sound echoes in Louis' head as he reaches out for anything to hold on to. He grips Harry's coat with both hands and feels Harry's arms go around his shoulders.

He grits his teeth, can't help the tears falling from his eyes when the flashbacks of what happened that day, two weeks ago come flying back without mercy. The overlapping car horns, the sound of steel crashing into steel, the screaming, the police sirens, then silence.

When he woke up in a hospital and found his mum sitting in a chair beside his hospital bed, he stared at her asleep form as tears were falling onto his unmoving face.

He couldn't feel anything for a week. Then, when Harry came, he started feeling fragments of emotions.

Now he feels too many.

He doesn't realize he's shaking violently until Harry's arms close around him so tightly it hurts. He tries to stop, as much as he can, and lets Harry raise him onto his feet. He winds a strong arm around Louis' waist and grips Louis' forearm with his other hand.

Louis only now realizes that Harry's been talking quietly to him the whole time.

"It's fine, I'm right here, baby, it's alright," he keeps repeating, and Louis suddenly feels overwhelmed.

A different kind of overwhelmed than a second ago, when he was shaking out of his skin.

He feels his heart swell up and this time the tears that come running down his cheeks are out of pure love.

 

 

Next time he comes to, he's lying on his bed. It's dark, except for the soft red light that shines in the corner of the room.

His sister bought him this weird mood light ball. He said it was way too fucking gay, even for him, but she just laughed and stuffed it into his backpack when he wasn't looking.

He blinks a couple times and tries to move next, but something is keeping him down.

He frowns and wiggles around a bit. That's so clearly a fucking arm. How did he not notice it first thing he woke up, he doesn't know.

It's also very clearly Harry's arm. Judging by the big ass anchor tattoo Harry insisted on getting because he  _ so _ wanted to have matching tattoos with someone and Louis just happened to be in his line of vision when the idea came to him.

He looks at it for a bit. At his strong arm thrown onto Louis' waist, haphazardly. How fitting with the red, romantic as shit light.

He can't lie, he's thought about it too many times to count. About Harry, about how it would be to be with him, to have him.

And they did have their moments. Even though, as far as Louis knows, Harry hasn't shown any sort of interest in the same sex, Louis was an exception for him, judging from however many times they made out and did far too many things that best friends wouldn't, back in the day.

They were just horny teenagers with not many options, though. At least that's what they told themselves. Louis isn't stupid though, he knew they were playing with fire and when Harry once told him, after having way too many wine glasses, that he's terrified of commitment and love, Louis ended whatever it was they had. He couldn't take the chances of a broken heart.

He turns around under Harry's arm slowly and comes face to face with its owner, barely lit up by the light.

Harry's face is so close Louis can see the individual lines on his face, made by age. He's breathing through his mouth slowly, snoring a bit. His dark eyelashes flutter against his prominent cheekbones with every intake of air, and Louis suddenly feels overwhelmed as events from a few hours ago come rushing to his mind.

He breathes in sharply, and doesn't realize he's grasping Harry's arm in a vice-like grip until Harry stirs a bit and slowly opens his eyes.

He makes a raspy noise that sounds a bit too much like a moan and Louis feels like he's on the ends of his wits here.

"Lou, baby," he says, and Louis closes his eyes briefly, because if those are not the two words that he wants to wake up to every day for the rest of his life, in that voice? "You ai'ght?"

He opens his eyes and finds Harry staring at him intensely. Their faces are so, so close. Harry's arm encircles his waist tighter than before, his four long fingers fit themselves between Louis' middle and the mattress and he thumbs at Louis' bare back, softly.

Louis only realizes he's wearing nothing but his briefs. He's also pretty sure Harry's in the same state, knowing him.

Harry licks his lips then and Louis loses it.

He quickly lifts himself up onto his bum, pushes at Harry's shoulders so he's lying completely on his back and scrambles onto his lap.

“Wha’?” Harry manages, before Louis grabs one of his hands, intertwines their fingers, and holds it against his chest tightly. The look on his face must say a lot because Harry's jaw shuts instantly, his eyes locked onto Louis’.

“For the past two weeks,” Louis starts softly, voice laced with insecurity, and he knows Harry can tell because his other hand goes to grip his thigh lightly, the warmth of it prompting him further. “I have felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. And then you come in and, for some reason, I start feeling human again.”

He takes a deep breath, tightens the hold he has on Harry's hand. “But it's just. It's still not enough,” he finishes, eyes slipping downcast. 

It's silent when Harry raises up slowly, the hand he had on Louis’ thigh coming up to touch Louis’ cheek softly.

“I would do anything to help,” he says. “You know I would.”

Louis hums, swallows hard before he looks into Harry's eyes again. “Would you fuck the sad out of me, though?” his voice wavers under Harry's stare but it doesn't even take him a second to respond.

“That I can't do, I'm afraid,” and Louis is a moment away from breaking before Harry smiles and kisses him, as soft as ever, and Louis can swear he feels vibrant colours bloom inside his head as Harry whispers into his mouth. “But I can help you feel more alive for now, and then we'll talk and figure the rest out, if you're sure about this.”

Louis nods, mind already solely focused on how Harry's hand slips away from his cheek and goes to grab his waist, the other slowly inching under his briefs. 

“I need to hear you say this, Lou.”

“Yes, I'm sure,” he answers. “Just,  _ please _ -,” he breathes out, and almost yelps when Harry flips them over, his back landing on the sheets softly. 

“I'll be gentle,” his hands grip Louis’ hips softly. “I'll make sure you feel everything.” He dives down, mouth finding Louis’ with no problem, and Louis feels waves of warmth spreading over his body when Harry's hands travel all across his skin, lips softer than Louis remembers. 

It doesn't take long for Harry to find what they need, and Louis already feels like he might just burn alive, the calming hand Harry keeps on his cheek keeping him grounded when he finally sinks in him, and it's overwhelming. It is. But it's the type of overwhelming he doesn't mind, the type he craves for, the type that makes him feel like quickly burning cotton, and simultaneously makes his toes curl, shivers of pleasure overtaking his body.

Harry keeps it gentle, like he promised, every kiss, every touch, every sweet word Harry whispers into his mouth embedding deep into his soul, feeling of desire rippling under his skin wherever he grazes his long fingers. And Louis gives as much as he takes, tugging at Harry's hair because he knows he likes it, whispering back how well he's doing, making sure it's as much of a good experience for Harry as it is for himself.

And when, later, they lay on the rumpled sheets, the only sound being their heavy breathing, he reaches out and takes Harry's hand in his, brings it to his mouth and kisses it as softly as he can, and asks quietly. “Will you stay?” 

He knows there is more to those three words than it seems, and he knows Harry must realize that, too, but in this moment, when he finally doesn't feel like he's spiraling down an unending numbness he's felt over the last couple weeks, he suddenly doesn't feel afraid to risk it.

“Of course, Lou.”

 

**Author's Note:**

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> Thank you for reading. ♥


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